


One-Shots

by wanderlustnostalgia



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Halsey (Musician), PVRIS (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, F/F, Ficlet Collection, First Meetings, M/M, Multi, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustnostalgia/pseuds/wanderlustnostalgia
Summary: You know that thing where you shuffle your music and you write a thing based on whatever song comes up?  Yup.





	1. As Long As I Know I'm Getting Paid - Patrick Stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Five grand.”
> 
> Pete’s blindsided. “ _Excuse me?_ ”
> 
> “You heard me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knTeDB0UM6A) always reminded me of Parker from _Leverage_ , so enter thief!Patrick and mastermind!Pete. Pete comes off as a major creeper in this one, I'm so sorry about that, feel free to make of that what you will.

**_with welcome breath, an acrid gust_ **

 

The kid is short—shorter than Pete, and that’s saying something—with skin so pale Pete’s not sure it’s ever seen the sun.  He’s wearing a trucker hat— _a trucker hat_ —pulled down low on his head, making his expression hard to read, but his lips, pink and perfectly curved, are stiff, downturned, lush.

“Five grand,” those lips say.

Pete’s blindsided.  “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You heard me.”  He adjusts the brim of his hat, and Pete finally gets a glimpse of his eyes—stubborn, defiant, cocksure—as they glare down at him.  “Up front, in cash.  I wanna know you’re not planning on stiffing me before I do any business with you.”

Kid’s got a mouth on him.  In more ways than one—hard as he tries, Pete can’t take his eyes off those lips.  He wants to do things to those lips.  Dirty, naughty things that don’t bear repeating in front of an audience.  But attitude and talent are two very different things, and Pete’s not sure the kid’s got the skillset they need, not for five grand.

“And what makes you think I’m hiring you in the first place?” Pete asks, leaning back in his chair, hands interlaced behind his head.  “You haven’t even shown me what you can do.  What you’re capable of.”

In answer, the kid slams a wallet down on the desk.  A black leather wallet, with purple lining and the distinctive Clandestine Industries bartskull emblazoned in silver on the front.  Pete’s mouth falls open.

“Well?” the kid says expectantly.

“You think I’m gonna hire you just ‘cause of a wallet—”

Pete trails off as his keys, his checkbook, and his wedding ring all appear in front of him, when just minutes ago he could’ve sworn they were on his person.  How did he not notice them missing…?

“Look,” the kid says, with an impatient sigh, “just gimme the five grand and I’ll do whatever you want.  I don’t care.  I just want my money.”

Pete raises an eyebrow.  “ _Anything_ I want?”

“Anything.”

“For five grand?”

“No less.  Now do we have a deal or not?”

The kid holds out the palm of his hand, face surly and determined.  Pete licks his lips.  There is _nothing_ about this kid that spells “easy”—the rebellious glint in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes follow Pete’s like a fox stalking its prey—but Pete’s always loved a challenge.  And five grand—five grand is pocket money if he can have this kid in the palm of his hand.

“Now, then—Patton, was it?”

“Patrick.”

“ _Patrick._ ”  The name tastes bitter in Pete’s mouth.  He relishes it.  “Well, _Patrick,_ ” he says, flashing a predatory grin, “if you do what I say, I’ll give you whatever you want.”


	2. Allie - Patrick Stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while since Joe got nervous before a performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look what I resurrected! (Also in answer to the inevitable question, yes, I am reviving Antivenom at some point.)
> 
> Okay so this isn't technically a shuffle, but whatever. Requested by @valleygirlsameer on Tumblr aka emeraldcitydowntowngirl for a writing meme thingy (the prompt was "trembling hands + joetrick"), and if any of you read my AU crap this is the one where Joe finds out on Twitter that one of their tour dates is on the anniversary of Soul Punk and is like "we should play Allie or something" and they do.

_**trembling hands** _

 

It’s been a while since Joe got nervous before a performance.  By this point the adrenaline he feels each night on tour is less a product of nerves, more so the typical excitement that accompanies playing for millions of people who by this point don’t care if you fuck up, as long as you sound good.

Tonight, though, he’s sitting in the green room, and he’s been trying to go over the solo again, trying to get it  _just right,_  but with each attempt at replicating Patrick’s handiwork the nagging voice in his head keeps telling him  _it’s not enough, it’s not enough._

Fifteen minutes to showtime and he’s lost track of how many times he’s practiced, how many different renditions he’s played, how many notes he’s fumbled.  His hands are trembling furiously, and he’s bringing a water bottle to his lips and trying not to spill it all over his jeans when there’s a knock at the door.

“You ready?” Patrick asks, poking his head in.  His eyes are bright and his smile is wide and he has no idea that Joe is about to fuck up his song.

Joe forces a nervous chuckle.  “Are we ever ready?” he asks.  He reaches for his pick, but it slips from his grasp and falls to the floor.  “Fuck,” he mutters, bending over his guitar to reach for it.

Patrick beats him to it, though, crouching on the ground and placing it in Joe’s open palm.  He closes Joe’s fingers around it, letting his hand linger a little atop Joe’s knuckles.

“Whatever’s bothering you,” he says, “I promise it won’t be as bad as it seems.”

Joe breathes.  His pulse is racing and Patrick’s looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips, holding his fucking hand like they’re sixteen again in the back room of someone’s shitty bar, but his hands aren’t trembling anymore, the pick nestled snugly in his fist.  Patrick doesn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” Joe whispers.

Patrick grins.  “Let’s play this thing, Trohman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna hit me up with requests or bug me about life in general my Tumblr is poorapothecaries, come say hi :)


End file.
